Spinning Dickens
by Angel Grace
Summary: Response to Improv #15. A night in the life of Louise Grant.


Title: "Spinning Dickens"  
Author: Grace  
Rating: R  
Improv: #15, sleep~map~satin~ember  
Disclaimer: _Gilmore Girls_ was created by Amy Sherman-Palladino, and is the property of Dororthy Parker Drank Here Productions, Hofflund-Polone, and the WB. The characters are used without permission. No copyright infringement is intended, and no profit is being made from their use.  
A/N: I'm not sure what compelled me to write them, although the Improv words did lend themselves to sex. Still, I'd like to think it's more of a character study than just a smut piece. Oh, and the title is a reference to the fact that Tiny Tim is a character in Charles Dickens' _A Christmas Carol_...and this fic might spin him in his grave. :)  
Spoilers: None.  
  
  
  
Louise Grant rolled over, pulling the sheet slightly higher over her bare breasts. The satin was cool and slick against her skin, a welcome respite from the frenzied, sweaty heat of sex.  
  
It hadn't even been good sex. She glanced briefly at her bed partner. Tim? Todd? Tom? Something with a "T". A whisper of a giggle escaped her--maybe his name was Tiny. _It would certainly fit_, she thought wryly.  
  


It had been just another night at just another party--although this one happened to be at her house. No parents, no servants, and no lock on the liquor cabinet. She had been buzzed before the first guests began arriving, and completely drunk an hour into the festivities. She had hazy memories of a table dance down in the billiards room, getting groped by a basketball player in the front hall, and going skinny-dipping in the hot tub with three   
awestruck members of the chess club.  
  
When the first buzz wore off, and colors became too vivid and lights too bright, she started in on the Jell-O shots. A veritable rainbow of fruit flavors, they seemed to beckon to her. Cherry, orange, lemon, lime, grape, with liquid centers that sent bursts of tequila, vodka, and rum screaming down her throat and burning in her stomach.  
  
Tiny Tim--she snickered softly again--had come up to her with a sexy smirk, a pair of sparkling blue eyes, and a deck of playing cards. Never one to back down from a challenge, Louise allowed herself to be goaded into a game   
of one-on-one strip poker. She lost after only one hand--there were perils to not replacing her bra and panties beneath her slip dress following the skinny-dipping episode.  
  
Completely nude, she had led him, wide-eyed and grinning, out of the secluded parlor, up the back stairs, and into her bedroom, where she lit a few candles.  
  
She had never been shy about her body--it gave her power, control. She had sprawled out on the bed, propped up on her elbows, her breasts swinging pendulously against the duvet, the faint friction hardening her nipples. She watched with amusement as Tiny fumbled with his belt buckle, his eyes fixed on her rosy aureoles like they were x-rated metronomes.  
  
She had masked her disappointment when his pants finally dropped to the floor and his boxers revealed only a pup tent. She'd been hoping for something that could comfortably sleep an entire regiment. He hesitated some more, so she crawled across the bed towards him, a cat stalking her prey. He gave a strangled moan when she pulled off his boxers with her teeth, and then he mumbled something about not having protection.  
  
She didn't mask her sigh as she went over to the nightstand and retrieved a condom--from a box, she noted wickedly, marked "small". She ripped it open and rolled it on with practiced ease. Not a task she relished, but it was faster than drawing the boy a map with instructions.  
  
He made some fumbling attempts at foreplay, until she finally had enough, flipping him onto his back and lowering herself onto him. He had come almost immediately after penetration, leaving Louise distinctly unsatisfied. She had waited until he drifted off to sleep before finishing the job herself. He had been snoring fitfully for close to an hour now, when all she really wanted him to do was leave. The party downstairs had died down--she figured everyone had either gone home or was busy having sex.  
  
Not wanting to wake up next to Tiny and do the awkward-morning-after dance, Louise slipped from the bed, the sheet pooling unheeded at her feet. She ambled over to the dresser, where the candles had burned down to stubs, the   
wicks little more than embers. She licked her thumb and forefinger and pinched them out, enjoying the tiny prick of heat and flame. At least she could still feel _something_.  
  
She glanced back once more at the mass staking its unlawful claim on her bed. Then she stepped into her adjoining bathroom, to wash away the sins of another day.  
  
_finis___


End file.
